Death of the Silent Hero
by Skye10
Summary: While reminiscing about past times, Alec must face the reality about the old age and death of an old friend.


*I am guessing the ages of Satan and the Black at around a five year difference. I think it was in the Black Stallion & Satan that we got an idea of their ages.* Warning: A possible Tear Jerker  
  
Death of the Silent Hero  
  
By Skye  
  
  
  
Alec caressed the dark muzzle of Satan gently, letting the stallion snort out several times in response to the scent of the Black upon the man. Alec tried to smile when he felt the warm breath pass over his face and ruffle his red hair as Satan swung his muzzle to his bucket to drink, but he could not. The warm brown eyes looked about expectantly at the pasture, eager to go, his muscular neck arching as he bent for the halter.  
  
"Not now, Satan," Alec whispered, closing the bottom half of the door as he unclipped the stall guard, folding it and hanging it on the stall door. The stallion sighed, his jet black head with the diamond that once centered as the only white upon him now disrupted by numerous grey hairs at the muzzle and eyes. Moving in a series of rapid, but rather bowlegged strides, Alec checked on the Black. The old stud horse analyzed him in return. He looked younger than Satan, not quite the thirty years he had become several months ago.  
  
"Hey, fellow," Alec offered, reaching up the long neck to scratch the base of the stallion's finely tipped ears. The graying muzzle went to touch his friend gently, whickering in response. Alec smiled with pure love for his stallion, whose dark eyes were friendly. Suddenly, the stallion's head whirled up and he screamed a challenge at Dante, his grandson through Black Minx. The young stallion whistled in return, dancing on his toes as he drifted to the breeding barn to meet his latest mare in the darkness of the new day. The stallion's head drifted down eventually, the large nostrils slowing their quivering eventually.  
  
"At your age, you'd think you had mellowed," Alec commented, causing the stallion to toss his head in response. Alec watched him as he moved to circle his stall, watching for any sign of the laminitis that had flared up a year ago. There was a slight off ness to his right fore, but no other sign. There had been an increasing demand for the stallion when the racing world had learned of his demise, but Alec had firmly kept the great stallion's book closed to outside mares. Satan, at twenty five, bred the occasional mare, but his fertility was down. The success of Midnight Dreary, his Oaks winning daughter, had propelled him to become a leading sire, and his son, Last Hope, was proving himself as a broodmare sire.  
  
Alec sighed, looking down at the photo album he held in his calloused hand. Propping it against the oak door, he flipped through it, stopping at the occasional page to admire each horse. Ah, here was Dante as weanling, already showing the lines of his grandsire, the Black and the Alydar son they had used. His fine body was later honed to the perfect race horse, his stamina and sprinting ability crippling many of his opponents. His two losses had both been during his two year old year, but neither had mattered against the dawning champions run for the Roses, or for the Preakness. Yet, during the Belmont, the stallion had been pulled up short, limping badly. Promptly retired, his coming two year olds were showing speed in the early stakes of the year.  
  
Then there were the photos of the young mare, Pam's Song. The chestnut filly had not been a wildly successful winner with a record of winning several allowance races and smaller stakes, but she was an excellent broodmare now. Alec shook his head at the thought of Pam, allowing himself to smile at her memory, but not linger on the pain of it. As he turned the page, he saw the photos of "Baby" and her foal by Wintertime, Hot Chocolate. The filly was too much like her dam, hard to press to full speed. But she was now a successful jumper on the Grand Prix circuits.  
  
A soft noise made him raise his head and he closed the book slowly, walking to the end of the barn, seeing the open top door. He peered over at the pair and smiled. There was the reason for all of their success. The gray hair, rather friendly eyes, and patience were a commonplace on the racing circuits they traveled on. Sometimes he was the most recognized of them all, more so that Alec sometimes felt amused by his popularity. "Henry," he spoke out softly.  
  
The wizened man looked up and smiled sadly at his friend. "He hasn't been moving much," Henry comments, turning his eyes to the gelding. Napoleon released a muffled sound, his breath coarse to the ears as his large floppy ears flicked up. The old gelding shifted his feet slightly ahead of him as he tried to rise, but could not. Sinking down to his hindquarters, Alec would have laughed if he was not so frustrated at the comical sight. The gelding flapped his lips as he sunk to his side again.  
  
"Have you called the vet?" Alec questioned, moving into the deeply bedded stall and crouching down beside the gelding to scratch his neck. Henry nodded.  
  
"Yeah," was all he could respond, looking down. His head flicked up when he heard the slam of a truck door and walked quietly out. Alec caressed the large head before him, sitting down with Napoleon's head in his lap.  
  
"You've lived a good life, Nappy. Not many horses reach forty," he commented, feeling the grey horse sigh happily as he was scratched. Alec swallowed hard, sighing as he remembered the reason for the euthanasia. The old gelding had been suffering from severe bouts of "tying up" and had become lame in his hind legs as well. Alec finally spoke,  
  
"Do you remember when I first brought the Black to the old barn? You taught him that not all geldings or stallions are a threat to him. And Satan, when he warmed up to you on the tracks, you two were irreplaceable." Napoleon's legs twitched, but he made no effort to get up. "And Tony, he missed you so much, but knew you were going to be well taken care of. It was his last wish that if you were in pain we wouldn't make you suffer. I remember seeing you two for the first time in cart, him singing away with his accent and the vegetables he peddled."  
  
Napoleon whickered dully, and Alec got up to see what was keeping Henry. The short little man was speaking with a hushed voice to the tall, lanky vet at the Black's door. The stallion's head whipped around to see the young man, and he whistled, as if understanding of what was to happen had occurred to him. He began to paw the ground. Henry came forward slowly with the vet.  
  
"Thank you for taking time to come, Danny," he said softly. The younger man smiled sadly.  
  
"This is never easy, Henry. For any of us," he commented. He looked to Alec. "I'm going to give him a tranquilizer, which will put him into a sleep, first. He might suddenly shift, but it's like if we tranquilize for floating, he has reflex motions. I'll then give him two 60cc syringes of barbiturate to equal an overdose. His breathing and heart rate will slowly reduce. Are you comfortable holding him?" he asked, having explained what he had wanted to. Alec nodded, going back to the grey gelding.  
  
A buzz of clippers was the only sound, but it was suddenly overlapped by the sound of pounding hooves against oak. Alec looked up from where he had focussed on Danny clipping where he was going to insert the needle. The needle was slowly pressed in when he was finished, the tranquilizer quieting Napoleon's occasionally head lifting. His legs twitched slightly as his breathing deepened.  
  
"It'll be alright, boy," Alec whispered as he scratched the floppy ears, and rubbed the white forehead. Danny was focussed on his job, slowly inserting the first barbiturate needle and syringe he had drawn. As he slowly pressed down on the plunger, there was a banging sound, and then a clatter of hooves. Henry jumped out the way as the Black came barrelling into the door frame, bobbing his head incessantly. He went to grab his lead when Alec shook his head, the tears in his eyes pleading with his friend. Henry backed off, watching as the stallion nuzzled his old friend gently as the plunger was pressed down to the maximum, and the second needle inserted. The old gelding was quiet and still as the Black whickered again, his long neck nuzzling the old head.  
  
Napoleon had felt a touch of an old friend, but couldn't respond. He felt the boy's warm lap and love, feel the sadness in the room as he retreated into his mind. Slowly, as the barbiturate took its effect, he began to see the old images in his mind. Of the stripling yearlings he taught at his side to mind their manners and be patient, of racing against Satan with Tony on his back one dark night at the track, of playing with the Black in the older years. Then the images faded.  
  
Alec wiped at his face as Danny listened for the heartbeat, and slowly took the stethoscope down and put the caps on the syringes. Henry had his eyes hidden by his handkerchief, his body shaking slowly. Alec slowly got up, giving the old head one last caress as he went to the Black. The tall stallion was nudging Napoleon, giving a forlorn nicker. Alec went and hugged Henry slowly, allowing them both to grief.  
  
When Alec pulled back, he saw that Danny had mercifully spread Napoleon's cooler over his grey body. Touching the Black, the young man and his old stallion walked down the barn aisle, the stallion whistling at the rising sun silently. Alec smiled, but buried his face in the long mane and cried hard. The stallion lowered his head and pressed it against the boy's back, grieving in his own way for the loss of a dear, dear friend.  
  
Author's note: I know I know, I killed off the beloved Nappy. But so many fan-fictions base around the Black, I decided to write about my second favourite character, Napoleon, and to be realistic. Read and review if you want to tell me what you thought of the situation. 


End file.
